


You Can't Always Get What You Want

by mosylu



Category: The Flash (TV 2014)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Historical, Caitlin is a midwife, Cisco is a monk, Iris is the lady of the manor, Middle Ages, and Barry is Sir Not Appearing in This Fic
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-11-08
Updated: 2017-11-08
Packaged: 2019-01-31 00:37:59
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,179
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/12664734
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/mosylu/pseuds/mosylu
Summary: With her liege lord off fighting the Crusades, the Lady Iris has been throwing heart and soul into keeping her people together, with the help of the local midwife, Mistress Caitlin Snow. But when a mysterious illness strikes, Iris is at a loss - until Brother Francisco turns up.Caitlin's not so sure that a monk is going to be of any use.





	You Can't Always Get What You Want

**Author's Note:**

> This is another self-prompt for NaNo month, for the prompt “We can’t just sit here and do nothing!”
> 
> This is a notion for an AU that I’ve had floating around in my mind for a while. If there’s interest I’ll write more, because I really love the idea of badass medieval ladies holding everything together back home while the guys are off trying to reclaim the Holy Land/pillage the Muslim world.
> 
> Apologies for any gaps in research or anachronisms (you know, besides using a Rolling Stones quote for a story about the Middle Ages). I kept getting distracted by reading about the Crusades and yelling THIS WAS BULLSHIT OH MY GOD WHAT THE HELL.

Caitlin strode through the great hall. “Where is Lady Iris?”

“In the solar - but Mistress Snow, she has a guest!”

Her step faltered, but she shook her head. “Her ladyship will want to hear this.” She took the stairs to her lady’s private rooms two at a time, her skirts kilted above her knees. She did take the time to neaten herself before knocking at the door. Iris had seen her all askew before, of course, but Caitlin had a little more pride than to present herself thus in front of a stranger.

When a voice called out, “Enter,” she pushed the door open.

Iris sat by the fire with a monk, Benedictine by his robes. She rose at Caitlin’s entrance. “Mistress Snow, how fortuitous. I was about to send for you.”

“My lady,” Caitlin said, giving a brief curtsy.

Before she beg a moment of her lady’s time, Iris went on, “Brother Francisco, this is Mistress Caitlin Snow. She is our midwife and herb-woman, and keeps us all in excellent health.”

Caitlin bit back a scowl. It wasn’t always safe to tell a man of God such things. They got so flame-happy.

But Brother Francisco didn’t seem inclined to start proclaiming her a witch. Instead he ducked his head to her. He looked young, with clever dark eyes and a wide, curving mouth. There was stubble in the bald patch of his tonsure, as if he wasn’t very good about keeping it shaved, and his dark robes were ragged and mud-caked at the hem.

“Brother Francisco is lately come from the Holy Land, with news of my Lord Bartholomew.”

For a moment, Caitlin forgot what she’d come to say. She took a quick step forward, reaching out for Iris’s arm. “My lady, he’s not - ”

“He’s alive and well,” said Brother Francisco. “Or he was when I left some months ago.”

Caitlin sagged with relief. Sometimes it felt as if Iris’s tenuous hold on the manor and the lands only held because of her husband’s name. If Lord Bartholomew died on crusade, the whole manor might fall into the hands of one of their greedier neighbors. The Church may have promised protection to the lands of Crusaders, but some were more protected than others.

She asked the other question that had immediately sprung to mind. “Is he coming home?” But almost before the words had left her mouth, she read the answer in Iris’s face.

“No,” the monk confirmed. His face fell into lines that could have been kindness and sympathy. Caitlin looked away. “But he told me that he thinks of his lady and his home with longing every moment of the day.”

Iris gave a brave smile. “As do we, of him.”

Caitlin refrained from snorting. If his lordship was that homesick, he could abandon the fool’s errand he pursued and come back to England. “Good news, indeed,” she said levelly. “I beg your pardon, Brother. I must speak with my lady.” She turned meaningful eyes on Iris.

The monk was no fool. He strolled over to a narrow window and peered out with every evidence of pleasure in the soggy, grey early-autumn view.

“Caitlin?” Iris said.

Since her lady had dropped the formality, Caitlin could too. “John Miller died not long ago.”

Iris crossed herself. “May God have mercy on his soul. I’ll visit the family later today. Are any of them sick?”

“Yes, which makes five deaths and seventeen fallen sick in the past fortnight.” Caitlin swallowed hard. The admission sat in her throat like a stone, but - “This illness is well beyond my knowledge. I beg you, send your brother with all speed to your good father in Oxford. Ask him to consult a doctor. Better yet, send one.”

Iris turned toward a table sitting by, pouring herself wine from a steaming jug. She offered Caitlin a cup.  "Before I do, I wish Brother Francisco to assess the situation.“

Caitlin waved it away. "We need help, not prayers.”

“How fortunate we are that God has listened to one and supplied us with the other.”

What was she on about? This blind piety wasn’t like her. "My lady, this sickness will kill us all. We can’t just sit here and do nothing!”

Iris slapped her goblet to the table, her face stormy. “And when have I ever sat on my hands and done nothing?”

Caitlin ducked her head, feeling heat spread across her face. Lady Iris had held her husband’s lands in a white-knuckle grip for the past three years, through a barrage of doubts and attacks from wealthier, more powerful lords and barons. Of anybody, Caitlin knew how hard Iris worked to keep her people together and safe. “I beg your pardon. But I fail to see how a _monk_ can help us with this problem.”

“Brother Francisco is not merely a monk, as I was about to tell you. He has spent many years and many miles in a study of poisons.”

"Poison?” She looked over her shoulder. “Him? Don’t Benedictines spend all their time copying the Holy Writ?”

“Brother Francisco seems to be unique in a number of ways,” Iris said dryly. “I have been acquainting him with the situation. His expertise could not be better timed. Surely he has been sent by God.”

Caitlin wanted to object more - God rarely answered prayers so openly, in her experience.

But she remembered John Miller’s death, hours ago, vomiting and writhing in pain, and the wails of his wife and children, and her own helplessness before it. If she could keep one more family from that fate, she could put up with a monk for a time.

She bowed her head, pressing her lips together. "If you think his knowledge will help - ”

“I do.” Iris offered the wine again.

This time Caitlin took it, pressing her fingers to the warm sides of the goblet. “Then I will work with him,” she said. “My lady, do you truly think this is poisoning and not some unknown illness?”

Iris drank her wine, looking tired and thoughtful. “I think that _who_ has fallen ill is far more informative than how they have fallen ill. The miller is only the most recent skilled tradesman that we’ve lost. Our winter and spring will be doubly difficult with only their apprentices to do the work. God takes as He sees fit, of course, but I find it hard to believe He would have deliberately chosen precisely those whose loss would make our lives that much harder.”

Caitlin had been so focused on attempting to care for the sick that she hadn’t given any thought at all to how it would affect the manor should they die. But then, that was her lady’s job. She bit her lip. “If this is a case of poison -“

"Then somebody is doing it a-purpose. Don’t mistake me, Caitlin. I pray I am wrong.”

“How if you are right?”

“That will be my problem.” Iris’s eyes drilled into Caitlin’s. “Yours is to find out what, and find out who, and bring them to me.”

FINIS


End file.
